


Febuwhump 2021

by KToon



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Blood and Injury, Check Notes on Each Chapter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, More Notes in Chapters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Torture, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29148675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KToon/pseuds/KToon
Summary: At first Peter thinks he’s having a nightmare. And then quickly, very quickly, realizes as his head snaps back from the force of an iron-clad punch to the face, that this is completely real. Can’t blame him though, really, because he’s lived this reality in his dreamworld—but he’d never thought it would come to pass.My first Febuwhump!
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	1. Mind Control

**Author's Note:**

> Helllloooo! This is my first time doing anything like this—a Febuwhump, one-shots, that gist. I needed a break from multi-chapter writing, but I swear I'll update Contentiously Amiable soon.
> 
> No, I will probably not do every single day, nor will I probably do them on time. But I am going to do my best!
> 
> Please, PLEASE check each individual chapter for new notes and possible trigger warnings.
> 
> TWs for Chapter 1: Violence
> 
> Enjoy! Please let me know what you think—it really does help to motivate me! :)

At first Peter thinks he’s having a nightmare. And then quickly, very quickly, realizes as his head snaps back from the force of an iron-clad punch to the face, that this is completely real. Can’t blame him though, really, because he’s lived this reality in his dreamworld—but he’d never thought it would come to pass.

It’d been a normal day, really, for the most part. He’d just got out of school, all the other kids rushing by him out the front gates to the car-line, ecstatic that it was Friday at last. Peter was no different, as Fridays were lab days with Mr. Stark and those always proved to be a fun-filled evening. He meets with his mentor every Tuesday and Friday, but typically ends up staying the night until Saturday morning after they’ve mowed down multiple bags of popcorn during various movie-binges.

Scanning the parking lot, though, he didn’t see the normal black limo that Happy picks him up with in its usual spot. Humming, he furrowed his brows and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He hadn’t realized he’d received a new text.

_Change of plans. Come swing by and meet me at 103 rd and 54th._

Peter’s first thought was that it was a mission of some sort. Why else would they cancel a lab day to go meet up at some random location in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere downtown? So he shrugged on his Spider Suit in some discreet alleyway, connected himself to Karen with a polite hello, and asked for the quickest route to the address given to him.

Upon arrival, he discovered it was a dilapidated warehouse marked for demolition, paint peeling and the smell of mold enswathing the area. Hesitancy settled in his gut as he eyed the location with distaste from a neighboring rooftop. Something didn’t feel right.

“Karen?” he asked quietly.

_“Yes, Peter?”_

“Is there anybody inside this building?”

Karen fell silent for a moment, presumably doing a scan, before replying, _“I detect one lifeform on the first floor, northeast section of the structure.”_

Peter bit his lip. “Just one? Can you tell if it’s Mr. Stark?”

_“It does seem to be. He is wearing his suit.”_

Well, that settles that he supposed. Sighing, he stood up from where he was perched and gave Karen a small thanks before swinging down and pushing open the front door, which was practically hanging off its hinges. The awful smell nearly made him gag, but he steeled himself and worked his way through the opening to where he saw Mr. Stark standing stoically in a corner.

“Mr. Stark?” he asked wearily, steps slowing as he approached the older man. “Uhm…”

Mr. Stark stiffened, then turned around, and Peter felt for the first time his spider-sense tingling at the base of his neck.

“Oh, hey Pete.”

Peter narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What are we doing way out here? Is there a mission? Any bad-guy butt we need to kick?” he chuckled out.

“No, nothing like that,” Mr. Stark responded, and for the first time upon arrival, Peter had an inkling of doubt that, maybe, this wasn’t Mr. Stark. The way he talked was too neutral…too…not Mr. Stark.

“Okay…” he said slowly. “Then how about we head back to the tower, yeah? There’s this new movie—” But he didn’t get to finish his sentence before his senses came to life and he was flipping on instinct out of the way of a well-placed repulsor beam. Looking up in surprise, he found Mr. Stark’s hand raised at him, and then before he could process what the _fuck_ just happened, the suit was flying at him. He tried to dodge out of the way, but arms wrapped around his torso and before he knew it he was being flown harshly into a wall.

His head connected without mercy, stars exploding before his eyes; and then, another punch turned those stars into full-bursting fireworks, a ringing in his ears accompanying them. So…yeah. Peter’s quickly realizing this is in fact _not_ a nightmare, and that Mr. Stark is well and truly trying to hurt— _kill?—_ him right now.

Before another fist can meet its acquaintance with his cheek, Peter lets his instincts take over and catches the oncoming assault. Using his other arm, he shoves Mr. Stark off of him and picks himself off the wall, facing Iron Man, who had been flung a few feet back.

Shaking away the dizziness, Peter tries, “Mr. Stark?” The only response he gets, however, is the suit charging back up for another attack, and Peter, prepared this time, jumps onto the wall behind him, letting this beam hit where he’d just been not more than two seconds ago, cracking the wall into pieces.

“Holy shit…” he mutters, then climbs higher, letting his senses guide him away from every attempt Mr. Stark—no, not Mr. Stark—makes to knock him down. Eventually his mentor gets fed up though and flies upwards, but Peter’s ahead of him and escapes back down to the floor.

“Karen, what the fuck is happening? Are you sure there’s somebody in the suit?” he frantically questions as not-Mr. Stark turns around.

_“Yes, Peter.”_

He dodges another blast.

“And you’re _sure_ it’s Mr. Stark?”

_“My indicators show it is 89.2% probable that it is Tony Stark inside of the suit.”_

Too high of a risk, Peter thinks, to chance it not being Mr. Stark. Karen is rarely wrong, anyways.

“So, what—what is happening? Why is he trying to attack me?” he breathes as he continues evading every barrage of attacks thrown his way. His muscles are starting to burn.

 _“I don’t know, Peter,”_ Karen admits. _“Could it be some form of menticide?”_

Peter leaps back onto the ceiling using his webs. “What, brainwashing? Maybe? He could’ve—”

Suddenly, there’s dozens of small missiles flying his way, and Peter’s eyes widen in surprise as his spider-sense desperately tells him to _move._ Peter’s dodged bullets all the time, but this is different—missiles don’t fly through the air linearly like bullets, meaning they aren’t totally predictable. So he finds the closest cover he can, a decaying desk, and uses it as a shield. The blunt force of the blasts send him flying back more than a few yards, and he lands hard on his stomach, skidding away painfully.

_“Peter, I detect possible broken ribs.”_

Grimacing, Peter swallows his pain. “Yeah. Thanks, Karen.”

And then there’s more missiles flying his way, and Peter’s forced to pick himself back up and do his best to avoid them. He’s successful, for the most part, but another one narrowly misses and this time hits one of the support beams of the warehouse. Memories flood before his eyes, and before things can start spiraling out of control he orders a splitter-web and it wraps around the pillar, steadying it.

In the time it took to do that, though, not-Mr. Stark had seized the opportunity and Peter is unable to sidestep the punch coming from behind. It hits the back of his head and he stumbles forward, yelping in pain. He’s pushed to the ground then, and as he maneuvers his body onto his back, not-Mr. Stark lands on top of him and Peter uses his arms to shield his face.

“Karen?!” he desperately pleads. “What do I do?”

 _“Your best course of action is to fight back,”_ she dutifully answers, and for a moment Peter lets himself listen to her, curling a fist and punching. Hard. Not-Mr. Stark falls down with a strangled cry of pain and Peter’s stomach drops. _No, he didn’t mean—he didn’t mean to hurt—_

And then he’s once more flying through the air, colliding with another support beam. He doesn’t have the time to save himself though this time, and he goes, quite literally, through it, the cement crumbling around him in chunks. His spider-sense is the only warning he gets before history is repeating itself and the roof is concaving like dominoes.

He manages to wrap his arms around his head, but the ceiling still lands on him cruelly, knocking the wind out of him, and something heavy lands unforgivingly on his left leg. He thinks he screams, but he can’t be sure, and it feels like eternity before everything settles and he’s choking on both the past and the dust of the debris.

 _“-eter? Peter?”_ He distantly hears Karen in his ears, but they’re ringing again and it’s hard to hear. _“Sending a distress to the nearest available Avenger.”_ And with that information, he lets himself pass out.

* * *

It’s not the first time Peter wakes in Medbay, nor will it ever even remotely be the last. Everything is familiar—the whiteness that burns his eyes, the sterile smell, the beeping, May’s hands on his own. Except he only hears one other heartbeat in the room, and that’s not right—there should be two. There’s always two.

The first words out of his dry mouth, voice cracking, is: “Where’s Mr. Stark?”

And May smiles sadly, knowingly. Shakes her head. “He’s fine. Just a concussion, hon. It’s you we’re worried about.”

“What-what happened?”

May sighs. “Can’t you just let yourself rest for a moment?” Peter let’s his silence answer. She rolls her eyes. “Something about Toomes. Getting revenge from behind bars, making some connections, ordering people after you. They caught the guy who did it, though. Rhodey barely got to you guys in time.”

“So, he’s…?”

“He’s normal again,” she confirms.

“I want to see him,” he says determinedly. He needs to see for himself.

And there it is—the look he was dreading, the look he knew would come. Mr. Stark didn’t want to see him. He’d given him a concussion. He’d _hurt_ Mr. Stark. There’s no coming back from that, he knows, and so he blinks back the tears forming and tunes out May as she gives him his own list of injuries.

His broken leg takes three days to heal, his ribs an extra one, and the hairline fracture in his skull another two. He gets his schoolwork from Ned and MJ and heals at home, but returns to the tower a week after the whole event for his checkup with Dr. Cho to clear his head injuries.

From what he can gather from May and Rhodey, Mr. Stark has just been holed up in his lab, so before he leaves, he claims to go use the bathroom and makes his way down the corridors to the familiar room blasting music. Cautiously, he opens the door and peers inside, his presence unheard over the singing; but, thankfully it’s in FRIDAY’s programming to dial down any super bright lights or loud sounds upon his arrival for his senses.

“FRI? What’d I tell you about—” Mr. Stark starts, but then cuts himself off as he swivels around in his chair and catches sight of Peter. “Damnit.”

Not the reaction Peter was hoping for. “Hey, Mr. Stark,” he greets normally.

“Kid, how’d you get here?”

Peter shrugs and makes his way over to his own workbench. “Was my checkup appointment with Dr. Cho.”

There’s a pregnant pause, stilted and uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters at the same time.

Peter cocks his head and beats Mr. Stark to it. “For what?” he asks, bewildered.

This time Mr. Stark looks confused. “For what?” he repeats. “Try breaking your skull open? Try dropping a building on you? Try punching you in the back of the head?”

“You remember all that?” Peter asks.

Mr. Stark nods almost unnoticeably. “Every bit of it.”

“Even the part where you were mind-controlled?”

“Huh?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Peter insists. “It wasn’t you.”

Mr. Stark picks up a wrench, stares at it intensely, then drops it again disinterestedly. “I know that, Pete.”

“Then what is the issue? Why have you been avoiding me like the plague?”

“Because you wouldn’t fight back!” Mr. Stark exclaims, and Peter recoils a little bit at the outcry. _Oh._ Suddenly it all makes sense.

“Come on,” he starts. “You saw what one punch did to you! I couldn’t risk hurting you.”

“And that’s the issue, Peter,” Mr. Stark says sharply. “What was your plan? Just gonna let yourself get beat up by me until I killed you?”

Peter quiets. “You wouldn’t’ve. I knew you wouldn’t’ve.”

“Obviously not. Because I wasn’t in a position to stop myself. At all. It almost went way too far. And I can’t have you putting yourself in danger in order to protect me, that’s not how this works.”

Suddenly the air in the room is way too heavy, and Peter can hardly breathe. “You know how I became Spider-Man, right?” he asks. Mr. Stark nods. “Then you know why I couldn’t just do that,” he says, determined to make his mentor understand, the tear flowing down his face be damned.

Mr. Stark’s face softens. And then he's enveloped in a hug, one he’s gone without for far too long, and he lets himself calm down to Mr. Stark’s steady heartbeat.

“I know, kiddo,” he says gently.

And Peter knows the statement is full of truth. So they stay like that, for a while, relishing in it, and for the moment, everything feels okay.


	2. "I can't take this anymore."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alleyway he’s in feels like it’s too long—like it’s a never-ending corridor that just keeps getting longer and longer, like those illusions in a funhouse, and he huffs in frustration. This wouldn’t’ve happened if Mr. Stark had just left him alone, like he’d asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Chapter 2 is here. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you thought in a comment down below. It really helps with motivating me!
> 
> <3

“Shit, shit, shit,” Peter mutters, wincing in pain. He lifts his hand to his abdomen, and hisses in pain when he touches the wound to his side. “ _Fuck._ ”

He loses his balance for a brief moment as his vision whites out, but that’s all it takes before he’s stumbling into a trashcan on his right. He yelps out in distress, and reflexively reaches out and uses a hand to stick himself to the wall before he can collapse all the way. He stays there for a moment, hanging on the wall, before he exhales determinedly and pulls himself back up.

The alleyway he’s in feels like it’s too long—like it’s a never-ending corridor that just keeps getting longer and longer, like those illusions in a funhouse, and he huffs in frustration. This wouldn’t’ve happened if Mr. Stark had just left him alone, like he’d asked.

The man had tried to call him during his patrol, probably to check up on him and make sure he was safe, but Peter was too busy at the time with a homicidal maniac wielding a knife and threating the civilians of a random three-star restaurant. So, he’d declined the call fervently, and focused back on making sure the blade-bearing buffoon didn’t fucking stab anybody while trying to get the money from the cash register.

But Mr. Stark hadn’t. Stopped. Calling. And eventually he must’ve gotten fed up because he was patching himself through, per Karen’s protocols, and the worried, _“Kid?”_ that came through was enough to throw him off for long enough to give his opponent the opening.

The knife in his side didn’t register, not at first. So he immediately gave Mr. Stark a frantic, “I’m fine,” before initiating blackout mode (a protocol of his own, which turned off Karen and prevented any oncoming calls), webbing up the robber—who was currently freaking out about having stabbed Spider-Man—and swinging his way out of the area before the cops arrived.

Which brought him to the alleyway, and the gross trashcan he practically just fell into. He hasn’t turned blackout mode back off, because he's _fine,_ this was all _fine_ ; it wasn’t his first time being stabbed, it wasn’t going to be his last, and he just needed to get home so he could patch himself back up like normal. That was proving to be difficult, though. He kind of knew where he was and which block he was on, and that he was about a 10-minute walk from his place, so he could do it himself just fine.

He lets the city life distract him as he staggers along, the bright blue billboards in the distance and the sounds of cars whipping past proving suitable. At least for a little bit. But then the pain starts getting really bad again, and Peter whimpers. He hasn’t taken the knife out. It’s still in his side, because after going through this numerous times, he knows that taking it out is literally the worst thing he can do before he’s somewhere where he can appropriately stop the bleeding.

Peter halts for a moment, keeling over and taking in deep breaths. “Come on, Peter. Just another few blocks,” he whispers to himself. “You can do this.”

“You sure about that kiddo?” a voice comes from his left, and Peter jumps in surprise, wheeling around in shock.

“Mr. Stark?” he asks. “What the heck? When did you get here? I didn’t hear you fly up,” he says, and as he does, he simultaneously realizes that his mentor is not wearing a suit. Well, correction—he’s wearing a suit, but not an _Iron Man_ suit, just a black one with a tie, which leaves Peter asking himself how the fuck he knew where Peter was and how he got here that quick.

Mr. Stark stands next to him, eyeing Peter up and down. “You look like you’ve seen better days.”

Peter laughs breathlessly. “Mhm. You’re telling me.” He pulls himself up and takes another few steps forward. Mr. Stark follows patiently behind him.

“What happened?” Mr. Stark asks.

Peter scoffs. “What happened? What happened is that you called me in the middle of a fight and caused me to lose focus. That’s what happened.” He groans in discomfort. “We talked about that, man. I know you’re concerned but you can’t do that.”

Mr. Stark walks beside him, nodding. “Sorry kid. You know I get nervous with you being out and about here by yourself.”

Peter turns a corner. “Yeah, well,” he says, “you’ve just gotta have some faith in me.”

“I have faith in you.”

“Obviously not.”

They lapse into a moment of silence. Peter just tries to focus on placing one foot in front of the other, and after another few feet, his world tilts and he finds himself crashing to the ground. He closes his eyes in irritation. “ _Fuck._ ” This time, he doesn’t think he has the strength to bring himself back to his feet.

“Jesus, Mr. Stark, you proved your point.” He opens his eyes again and stares at his mentor with annoyance. “Can we just…go? Can you fly me out of here?”

Mr. Stark tilts his neck. “Do you see my suit anywhere around here?”

Peter pauses, then shakes his head. He doesn’t. And it worries him that he doesn’t. “What-what are you doing then?”

“I can help you get to your apartment. You’re close, yeah?”

“Like five minutes out, give or take. But Mr. Stark, I can’t take this anymore. It hurts. Please, just call somebody, or something, just get me out of here, _please._ I’ll let you lecture me, I’ll let you yell at me for getting myself stabbed, I’ll let you rhetorically ask me about how I thought turning down your calls and trying to do this on my own was a good idea. Just… _please._ ”

But silence only meets him, and he looks desperately to his mentor standing above him only to be met with a stoic expression. Peter’s heart deflates. “You’re just going to leave me to die?”

This gets Mr. Stark’s attention. “What? No, god no Peter. You’re not going to die.”

Peter recoils in confusion. “Yeah? Because I kind of have a _knife in my side_ if you didn’t _notice_ and I can’t get up.”

“Then why don’t you just turn your…blackout-thingy off? And reactivate Karen?”

Peter’s eyes widen. Oh shit. Why didn’t he—damn. Why didn’t he do that before? Quickly, he raises his bloody hand and turns the suit back on.

_“Hello again, Peter. You seem to have a knife wound in the bottom-left section of your abdomen. Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark and the medical team?”_

Peter furrows his eyebrows. “No, Karen, Mr. Stark is right—” He stops. Looks up. Mr. Stark is…gone. Twisting his body around he looks frantically for his mentor, left, right, but it’s only him in this particular alleyway aside from a street cat, with no other soul in sight.

Realization sets in.

“Karen, is there anybody in the immediate area?”

_“No, Peter, you are the only person within a 300 feet perimeter.”_

Oh.

Oh fuck. Well, he really messed up.

“Yes, Karen. Please contact Mr. Stark and the medical team,” he says softly.

_“Connecting now.”_

It’s quiet for a few seconds, before the panicked voice of Mr. Stark comes through. “ _Peter?! Where are you? I’ve been trying to track you for the past fifteen minutes!”_

And with that information, he lets himself laugh for a moment at the absurdity of it all, and tells Karen to take over in giving Mr. Stark the appropriate means to find him.

Mr. Stark was never here in the alleyway with him.

He looks down at his wound, then back up again, and begins counting the numbers of pi as he awaits his rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I made what happened clear, and I hope you enjoyed that little twist.
> 
> Blood loss and shock is an intriguing thing, is it not?


End file.
